


Three Viserys (and Their Brothers)

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first Viserys had a brother he loved, despite this brother being the cause of much sorrow in his life. The second Viserys was perhaps the only joy in his brother’s sad, sorrowful life, despite this brother’s deep-seated guilt for once abandoning him.</p><p>The third Viserys barely featured in his brother’s life at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Viserys (and Their Brothers)

**Viserys I & Daemon Targaryen**

The king was dying, and he knew it. “Are they here? Have they come?” He fretted.   

Queen Alicent exchanged wary glances with her father. It was Ser Otto who finally replied, “Princess Rhaenyra is heavy with child, Your Grace. To sail from Dragonstone in her condition might bring harm to the child, even to herself.”

“But Daemon … Daemon could come, couldn’t he? My brother could come.”

Alicent’s hand stroking his feverish brow felt too cold to be truly comforting. “Surely your brother would wish to be by his wife’s side, when the child comes. You were by  _my_  side each time, my love. Your daughter would demand nothing less from her husband,” she said.

“The child is not due until another moon’s turn, Maester Gerardys told me. Time enough for Daemon to sail to King’s Landing to see his poor brother, then to return to Dragonstone in time to attend to my daughter’s childbed,” the king griped. Then, frowning, he asked his Hand, his good-father, “You  _did_  send a raven to Dragonstone?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ser Otto replied, managing to insert a note of offended dignity in his voice, to hint at his displeasure at being doubted by the king. “But if Your Grace has lost your faith in me, then perhaps –“ 

“No, not at all,” Viserys quickly interjected. He had grown to rely on Ser Otto for the governance of the realm to an alarming degree, even more so in Ser Otto’s second stint as Hand of the King than during his first. Daemon and Rhaenyra had objected, not surprisingly; objected loudly and strongly to Otto Hightower’s return as Hand.

“Is it not enough that his daughter rules the roost in King’s Landing, while your own heir is exiled to Dragonstone?” Daemon protested, sharply.

“Exile? It is not exile,” Viserys objected. “Rhaenyra is the Princess of Dragonstone, and Dragonstone is where she should be. And I have not forbidden her to come to King’s Landing.”

Daemon laughed, bitterly. “Not on pain of death, certainly, the way you once barred the Seven Kingdoms to me. But you would prefer for us to stay at Dragonstone, to keep the peace with your queen.”

How Viserys  _hated_  being in the midst of discord and dissension. Why was it so hard for the people he loved to get along, to live in harmony? If only -  

Alicent’s voice brought him back to the present. “Do not fret, my king. We will send another raven to Dragonstone. But now … now you must rest.”

“Not yet,” he insisted. “Helaena has not come, with the children.” She brought her children to visit him in his bedchamber every night, his daughter.  _Their_  daughter, his and Alicent’s.    

He wished Alicent had not taken to calling Rhaenyra ‘ _your daughter’_  in that sneering, unpleasant tone. He wished Rhaenyra had not taken to calling Alicent ‘ _your wife’_  in that bitter, mocking manner.

He wished Daemon was by his side now, squeezing his palm, hard, to warn Viserys not to allow the tears to fall down his cheeks, the way Daemon had warned him during their father’s funeral. “There will be a Great Council soon, count on it,” Daemon hissed. “Why should they choose  _you_  over a female claimant, or over any other male claimant, when they have seen you weeping rivers of tears just like any grieving widow-woman?”      

Later, when the rumors were ripe that Corlys Velaryon was preparing a fleet to defend his son’s rights at the Great Council, it was Daemon who hastened to gather men-at-arms and sworn shields, to defend his brother’s rights.

Daemon was younger, but he had always been the stronger one.

He wished Daemon was by his side now, telling him how foolish it was to be terrified of death. “An adventure, brother. You are going on a long journey, and a great adventure awaits you at the end,” Daemon would say.

He wished, he wished, he wished. But very few of Viserys’ wishes ever came to fruition.  _I am king_ , he thought, despairingly.

Oh how weary he felt! Another thought vexed him suddenly, regarding his eldest son. Aegon never accompanied his children to visit their grandsire’s bedchamber. The gods only knew in whose bed Aegon was sleeping tonight. Not his wife’s, certainly. Perhaps it was just as well that he had resisted Alicent’s and Ser Otto’s entreaties to set Rhaenyra aside, to name Aegon as his heir.

Though, Aegon’s unsatisfactory conduct was never the reason for that, in truth. Aegon could have been as pious as a septon, or as devoted a husband as Viserys’ own grandsire King Jaehaerys, and Viserys would still not have un-named Rhaenyra as his heir. The thing was done. It was  _done_! Rhaenyra was his heir, and that was  _that_. And in this matter at least, Viserys was  _determined_  that his wish should held sway and remained the final word on the matter.

And yet, Alicent and her father would not stop haranguing him.  

“Your brother could not be challenged when it comes to notorious and appalling conduct,” Alicent had sharply remarked, when Viserys made disapproving noises about Aegon’s conduct. (Time, and bitter experience, had taught Alicent that bringing up Rhaenyra’s conduct was futile, a fool’s errand at best. Viserys saw his daughter as the little girl who used to sit by his feet still - the Realm’s Delight, the apple of her father’s eyes.)  

When it came to Daemon, however, Alicent brought up  _everything_. How Daemon had laughed and mocked Viserys’ dead son for being “ _heir for a day._ ” How Daemon had deliberately and pointedly worked to seduce his brother’s daughter - his own  _niece_  – all for the sake of his thwarted yet still unbridled ambition. The list went on and on, and Alicent was remorseless in reminding Viserys of every wrong his brother had ever done him.

“When you refused to make him Prince of Dragonstone, Daemon slyly turned himself into Prince of the City. When you would not make him king of the Seven Kingdoms, he styled himself King of the Narrow Sea, complete with a crown of his own.”

“He knelt, and offered me that crown,” Viserys interjected.

“And you raised him up with your own hands, returned to him his presumptuous crown, and kissed his cheeks warmly, as if he had done nothing wrong,” Alicent said, the disgust palpable in her voice. “You forgive your brother time and time again. You welcome him back to the fold every time. He only has to bow his head slightly, he only has to pretend a touch of remorse, and suddenly, all is forgiven.”

“He is my brother! My own blood.”

“He never learned his lesson. He never ceased coveting what was never his to possess.”

 _I love him for the boy that he once was, even for the man he turns out to be._  And Viserys loved his brother most of all for being his stronger self, the self  _he_  could never manage to be, had never managed to achieve.

“You must swear to protect your brother with this sword, Daemon,” their grandsire the Old King had said, when he bestowed Dark Sister to Daemon. Daemon had flashed his most charming smile - his  _wicked_  smile, his enemies claimed – and replied, “I love my brother, Your Grace. How could I do anything except protect him, with my sword, even with my life?”

_Do you love me still, Daemon? I forgive you. I have forgiven you everything. Have you forgiven me for Mysaria?_

How he wished his brother was here, by his side. 

 _Come. Come as soon as the raven reaches you, Daemon,_ he implored.

No raven flew to Dragonstone that night.

**______________________________**

**Viserys II & Aegon III Targaryen**

He sat by his brother’s bed, watching the rise and fall of his brother’s chest, trying not to  count the ribs on his brother’s skeletal frame, trying not to wince every time a seemingly endless successions of coughs shook that frail body.  

“Mother,  _flee_.” Aegon’s voice came as a hoarse whisper, more a plea than a warning.     

“I was spared  _that_ , at least,” Viserys had told his brother, more than once. “I was spared watching our mother devoured by a dragon.”

“You had to endure other things,” Aegon had replied. He would accept no consolation, and certainly no absolution. “I left you. I  _abandoned_  you. I should have taken you with me.”

“Stormcloud was  _your_  dragon, not mine. You witnessed our brother Joffrey’s fate when he tried to mount Mother’s dragon. That would have been  _my_  fate if I had mounted Stormcloud with you.”

“Then I should have stayed with you. I should have stayed by my brother’s side. It was not your fault I had a dragon, while your egg never hatched.”

Viserys had carried his dragon egg with him everywhere, like it was a part of his body.

Aegon would carry that guilt with him his whole life, like it was a part of his soul.

Aegon shifted slightly on the bed, wincing at the effort, his hands clutching the sheet as tightly as Viserys’ hands used to clutch his dragon egg.

 _Should we boil your precious egg, little prince? Or fry it? Which would make a tastier meal?_ Sharako Lohar had mocked Viserys, when he came aboard the Gay Abandon to claim his prize. They had found the egg after all, as cleverly as Viserys thought he had hidden it. Just as they had not been fooled by the ragged, salt-stained clothing he had changed into to disguise himself as a common ship’s boy.

He lived, that was all that mattered. He survived his ordeals, just like his brother survived his own ordeals, just like Baela and Rhaena survived their ordeals. They were all that were left, the four of them, from Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s brood of children from their various marriages.

“We must each fashion a life of some sort, as best we could, despite our scars,” Baela had said, trying to console the inconsolable Viserys after his lady wife left him to return to her native Lys.

“I have no scars,” Viserys deflected.

Grazing his cheek with her scarred hand, Baela said, “Your scars might not be as visible as mine, dearest brother, but they exist nonetheless.”

Aegon opened his eyes, abruptly. The room was mostly dark, the curtain drawn tight, the door firmly shut, the only source of light a candle whose flame was swaying unsteadily, but Aegon still flinched when his eyes met that little glimmer of light.  

 _Not long now_. The maesters had conferred, and rendered their judgment. A few days at most, they said.

 _No!_ Viserys had rebelled, silently.  _You cannot abandon me just yet_ ,  _brother_.

“You’re here,” Aegon said. What was that in his voice? Relief? Surprise? Viserys could not tell.  

“I am,” Viserys replied, trying to fashion his mouth into something approximating a smile.

Stifling a cough, Aegon said, “What we spoke of earlier … about Daeron, about my son -“

His heir, Daeron, four-and-ten and about to be king, very soon.

“I have taken care of it,” Viserys reassured his brother.

Aegon nodded. “I know you would. You have never failed me.”

Oh but he  _had_ , Viserys thought. He most definitely had.

Once, he had been able to bring a rare smile to grace his brother’s solemn and drawn face. Once, with his joy and his delight, with Larra, his beloved Larra and their children by his side, Viserys had been able to lessen the weight of his brother’s guilt, somewhat.

 _Look at me, brother! I am well. No, I am more than well - I am happy. I have made a fine life for myself. I am not damaged. I am not broken. You can rest easy, and set down your guilt. We can both rest easy now._ (For his brother’s guilt weighed heavily on Viserys as well – to know that he was  _yet another_  burden Aegon had to carry, to add to the other countless sorrows in his life.)

He finally saw Larra’s unhappiness, all the burden she carried in  _her_  heart, far too late.

He finally understood what a mirage his conviction of his own well-being, of his unbroken-ness, turned out to be.

There came a time when it was Viserys, not Aegon, who shut himself in a dark room, who refused to speak to anyone for days on end, who stared and stared at the wall praying that it would swallow him whole.

Aegon was the one who broke through to him, finally. “Your children need you. Your motherless children need their father,” Aegon said. “And I need my brother,” he added.

And yet Viserys was never the same, after Larra’s departure. He was far, far from that bright, shining youth whose return from Lys had roused his brother from his despondency, at least for a while.

“We are both broken,” he had told Aegon, in that dark room. “What use could I be to you, in this state?”

“You are my brother. It is enough that you live, that you survive. You need not be of any use to me at all. It is enough that you are here. More than enough,” Aegon insisted.

**______________________________**

**Viserys III & Rhaegar Targaryen**

When they told this boy of eight that his brother had died at the Trident, vanquished and defeated by Robert Baratheon’s warhammer, the first words out of his mouth had been, “Will I be king now, after my father?”

The ladies waiting on his mother gasped. They stared at him as if he had grown another head, as if he was a monster, as if he was an unnatural beast rather than the child they had once  _oohhed_  and  _aahhed_  over and proclaimed to be “ _as beautiful a child as King’s Landing had ever seen.”_  Now, they stared at him with horror mixed with disgust, the same way they often stared at his father’s retreating back.

“No, you will _not_ ,” one of them declared, adamantly, in a voice as cold as winter. “Prince Aegon is now heir to the throne.”

“Mind that you do not ask that question in front of your lady mother, Prince Viserys,” another one reminded him, her tone as sharp as a lion’s claw. “Her Grace has enough sorrow to contend with, without her only surviving son adding to it.”

They whispered among themselves, his mother’s ladies, about the unnatural boy who did not weep when told of his brother’s death, who did not seem to grieve or mourn for the loss of his own blood.  

_He is his father’s son after all. What else should we expect?_

_Prince Rhaegar was never so cold, so unfeeling, so …_ unnatural _, like this one._

He was not unnatural! Viserys sulked. If it had been  _Mother_  who died, if it had been  _Mother_  who was gone, he would have wept and wept until he had no tears left. He would have ripped apart his clothes, tore at his hair, scratched his face, demanded – nay –  _commanded_ , that his mother be returned to him.

But his brother … well, his brother was little more than a stranger. His brother had been gone from his life long before he was ever present. 

Rhaegar was ten-and-seven, almost a man grown, when Viserys was born. Rhaegar had his trusted companions, his loyal cohorts, and later, his wife and his children. What use did he have for a little brother, except to pretend a passing interest and to make a show of kindness that Father  _insisted_  was a ploy to hide his schemes and his plots?

“You are a danger to his position, and he knows that well enough,” Father had warned Viserys.   

Rhaegar had not even lived in the Red Keep with Viserys, Mother and Father, after his wedding. “He only  _deigns_  to descend from Dragonstone to  _grace_  us with his  _mighty_  presence when there is a new babe to show off, when there is an occasion for him to gloat about the children that Dornish wife of his pops out every so often,” Father had scorned.         

And now Rhaegar was dead, yet it was Aegon who would be king after Father, not Viserys. Aegon, the babe who smelled Dornish, just like his sister Rhaenys. Aegon, the babe Rhaegar had held up in his arms, tenderly but also proudly, while he laughed watching Rhaenys trying to mount the black kitten that  _stupid_ ,  _stupid_  girl insisted on calling Balerion, like the dragon.

Rhaegar never held Viserys in his arms like that, Father said. Rhaegar never laughed watching his little brother playing with a kitten, or playing with anything at all.

 _Go away_ , the boy thought.  _Go home to your stupid Dragonstone and watch your stupid children playing stupid games. You don’t need to be here for that._

 _I don’t need you to be here at all!_   


End file.
